


Moving Forward

by SuccubusKayko



Series: On a Lark [4]
Category: FFXIV, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Father, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gentleness, Mention of Aymeric/WoL romance, Mention of former lovers, Mention of multiple lovers, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other, Poly!WoL, Polyamorous Character, Relationship Advice, Tags Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 02:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14094885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuccubusKayko/pseuds/SuccubusKayko
Summary: She was not unlike his late son, in that way. Normally smiling openly and filled with good cheer, but silent and brooding when something was on her mind. Though the thought that Haurchefant would no longer grace his doorway, gently rapping on the door frame in much the same manner, to seek his advice saddened him, it had become easier in recent days. Especially with his young lover visiting as often as she was able, bringing along the scent of foreign soil and sun in her hair. Brighter places that they wanted to visit together, but were never able to.He would not have minded, over much, little half-miqo'te grandchildren.OrThe WoL goes to Ser Edmont for some advice about love.





	Moving Forward

**Author's Note:**

> Pure fluff. I am having a great deal of fun exploring the relationships my WoL could have with various NPCs and I just adore the Lords of House Fortemps.

 

“L-Lord Edmont,” there was a light rapping upon the door frame to his solar. The door was ajar and Edmont turned bleary eyes to find his recently adopted daughter standing within it. He sipped from his teacup, motioning her over with a small smile. It was not the first time, in recent weeks, that she had come to him in this state, and he knew that it would not be the last. As she stepped closer and his morning weary eyes focused better, he could see the turmoil scrawled over her young face. His face crinkled into something gentler, knowing that this morning would be a difficult talk, with her looking so discomfited.

 

“Come and sit beside me, my dear,” he offered her the plush arm chair beside his, but returned to the page in his book. When she was ready, he knew, she would speak. He flipped the page and sipped his tea in silent camaraderie, waiting for her to gather her thoughts.

 

She was not unlike his late son, in that way. Normally smiling openly and filled with good cheer, but silent and brooding when something was on her mind. Though the thought that Haurchefant would no longer grace his doorway, gently rapping on the door frame in much the same manner, to seek his advice saddened him, it had become easier in recent days. Especially with his young lover visiting as often as she was able, bringing along the scent of foreign soil and sun in her hair. Brighter places that they wanted to visit together, but were never able to.

 

He would not have minded, over much, little half-miqo'te grandchildren, despite the Holy See's aversion to halfbreeds. He could only imagine that they would have been just as precious as his own boys had been, though, perhaps, twice as mischievous as their mother and father. They would have been beautiful children, if their mother was any indication.

 

Her careless, dark beauty had stricken him at their first meeting, and he had no doubt as to what had first drawn the eye of his son to her. Though she was pale and silver haired and fairly the opposite in appearance of the child beside him in every way, it reminded him much of the way he had been drawn to Haurchefant's mother when first they met. Open smiles and quick kindness, despite circumstance.

 

He hid the sad curl of his lips in his tea, pushing the bitter-sweet memories and half dreamed hopes from his mind to be reflected upon at a more convenient time. She was here seeking comfort in a father she'd never had and he would offer what succor he could give.

 

She silently slipped into the armchair, settling at its edge and fidgeting with the tuft of her tail. Her knee bobbed up and down, shaking with nervous energy, the sole of her boot sounded a soft thumping, muffled by the carpeted floor. She stared down at its fibers, following the opulent patterns along with her dark and light gaze.

 

He was pleased to see that she had thought to leave the leather band behind, allowing him to see clearly her dark, brown, slitted eye and the gold, pupil blown wide and hazed over from her injury, the thick, jagged scar tissue tracing across her eyelids, leaving it blind. He knew that revealing it left her feeling vulnerable, and though it was unusual and telling, he was pleased that she was comfortable enough for him to see her this way.

 

Though she visited their home often, and with much more immodest dress, she always seemed to take care in her appearance when visiting him. Her usual dark, midnight blue leather coat had been replaced with something more modest. A simple black satin jacket, over a pale yellow shirt, buttoned up to her throat and tied with an ascot of a complimenting color. His smile eased into fondness as he watched her drop her tail and fidget instead with the airy linen that restrained her, slipping a finger to loosen it a touch.

 

She did not enjoy wearing such confining garments, but she did it out of respect for his old-fashioned sensibilities.

 

“Lord Edmo-,” she smiled sheepishly, making her look younger than her years, and beginning again, “Father.”

 

He tugged the satin ribbon between the pages he was reading and folded the leather covers closed, settling it in his lap and turning to give her his full attention. He motioned his head for her to continue.

 

“Father, I wish to speak to you about,” she frowned and turned her odd eyes back to the rug, toeing a loose thread with her boot. She seemed to choose her next words carefully, “About. . . matters of the heart. . .?” She trailed off and let the question hang in the air, allowing him to deny her his counsel should he see fit to. She was very considerate, but there was very little he would deny her, least of all this.

 

“Someone has caught your eye,” he stated, dark eyes steady on her face, watching carefully for upset.

 

“I-,” her cheeks colored and she gave him a half-smile of frustration, unused to people reading her so clearly, before returning her gaze to the pattern of a leaf curling over a vine, “Yes.”

 

“I see,” he hummed and lifted the little china cup to his lips, hiding the small, hopeful grin. He was pleased to hear that she was considering other suitors.

 

She swallowed hard and folded her hands in her lap to still their fidgeting, but her thumbs twiddled idly despite her attempt. When she spoke again, her voice was low and guilt ridden, just above a whisper, and it cracked with the force of her emotion. She inclined her head toward him so that he might hear, her eyes welling with unshod tears, “I do not wish to dishonor his memory, of course.”

 

“You could never.”

 

Haurchefant would not have wanted her to toil over him so, not if she could find happiness with another. He sipped his tea and schooled his face back into a pleasant neutral with long-practiced ease.

 

“Does this,” he paused, considering his adopted daughter's inclinations to the fairer sex and men alike, “ _Person_ treat you with respect?” He pointedly watched her face for the answer.

 

She wiggled her fingers apart, trying to get some feeling back after clasping them so tightly. Her head dipped as she tried to hide the cheeky smile that threatened her lips, her shoulders easing a fraction at the question,“Yes, _he_ is very respectful.” She fidgeted with the silvered button on her jacket, unfastening it and fastening it again.

 

“Does this _man_ ,” he continued cautiously, carefully guarding the excitement from his voice at the renewed hope of potential grandchildren. It was far too early to consider such things, he admonished himself, he did not even know if the man would suit the dear girl, “Know about the _lifestyle_ that you lead?” His tone left her the ability to ignore the question, should she wish, but he was pleasantly surprised to hear the answer.

 

“Yes,” was her curt reply, gentle, but clipped. She looked up at him with concern in her eyes, seeming to explain despite her misgivings at doing so, “I know that he lives a similar one, though the circumstances are different. It frightens me to think that he may be put in harm's way, but I imagine that he feels much the same.”

 

Another adventurer then, perhaps.

 

“I see,” he nodded gravely, knowing well the dangers of the life she lead and having sent her off to deal with some of them himself. The fact that he did not well know her at the time did not stop the pang of guilt from filling his lungs. His heart ached at the thought of her coming to harm, having only recently lost his son, but did not seek to guard her from it. She was a grown woman and could make her own decisions, and the fact that she came to him about this particular matter spoke volumes of the bonds they had forged in the recent year, of their shared grievances over his lost son and her lost love, and of the pleasant conversations and company she offered an old man.

 

Her proficiency in speaking diplomatically and intelligently with Atroirel, offering him counsel and different view points for him to consider in his newly appointed position as head of House Fortemps. Her ability to manage and temper some of Emmanelain's more _unsavory_ habits, and to encourage him in his many endeavors to become a better man and knight, as well as keep up with the local fashions and gossip in the process. The way that she would tease and gently chide the Lords Fortemps for their terrible eating and sleeping habits and the way she would always return 'home', – though they all knew she had one elsewhere – smiling sweetly and always bringing gifts and tales from her adventures. All of these things had endeared him to the young adventurer, once stranger and now daughter, as though she had always been a part of their family. He even dared to think that his late wife may have liked the girl, despite her bitter disposition and propensity for cruel words and actions to his illegitimate second born.

 

He was pulled from his reverie when he noticed that he had been staring. She was looking back with concerned confusion, the wonder of upsetting him clear in her eyes.

 

He chuckled and patted her hand, “Forgive an old man his wandering mind. It is yet early and I am still shaking off the cobwebs.”

 

Her smile was quick and she squeezed his hand gently, allowing him a moment to get the conversation back on track. She stood and gathered up the kettle, topping off his cup and handing him the muffin that lay forgotten on the side table. He thanked her and took a bite, knowing that she would not sit until he had, worrier that she was. How humorous would she find his most recent train of thought? Worrying over her like a doting father, even as she worried after him like a doting child.

 

He swallowed down the bit of muffin with a mouthful of fresh tea. He set them both to the side, watching her frown as he did so, but pulled her hands into his own, smoothing his thumbs over them. He gave her the full force of his gentle, hopeful smile, “I believe it would be remiss of me not to ask the most important questions. You know that Haurchefant would want the answer for himself, so I will ask it in his stead: Do you love him and does he make you happy?”

 

“I do,” her smile was fond, if not a bit teary at the mention of his second son, and it only widened when he squeezed her hands comfortingly, “And he does. So _very_ _**very**_ much.”

 

He grinned and nodded firmly, leaning back into his chair. He took another bite of his muffin, and carefully covered his mouth with his cup, opting to tease her a bit, “And have you introduced him to your husband and wife?”

 

“Who tol-?” She balked and pulled away to hide her face in embarrassment.

 

She colored down to her neck, her ears flicked back in horror and he could no longer contain his mirth at her expense. He broke out into a whole-hearted laugh, bubbling up from his belly and leaving him breathless and wheezing when he was through. He wiped the tears from his eyes, continuing to chuckle, “Forgive me, m-my dear. I d-did not mean to be cruel.” She peaked at him from between her fingers, eyeing him warily as a child caught with their hand in a bowl of sweets.

 

“I suppose Haurchefant told you all about it, then,” she sighed heavily, when he did not anger or question, slumping back against the chair and giving him a look that was half-smile, half-frustrated contrition.

 

He explained that while _she_ had never told him _personally_ about her other lovers, that of course Haurchefant _had_. It had been one of many conversations they'd had in this very room about the lovely, Lady Warrior, that had so captured his heart and his son had never been able to keep a secret from his father. It had concerned him at first, but after long, serious conversations with his beloved second born and having spent time in her company, he was now well aware that she was capable of much love. Enough, even, to include more than one life partner.

 

She worried at the velvet of the armchair as he told her this, her cheeks burning and the embarrassed smile threatening to pinch her cheeks to the point of pain. Her eyes were wet with tears, but she reigned them in admirably.

 

“You are a mean old man,” she admonish, though the words were clearly tender sarcasm and held no true weight, “Keeping all of this from me.”

 

“It did not seem necessary to mention,” he admitted, still grinning from ear to ear, wrinkling his old face. She wrinkled her nose in a wry grin, loving her precious father and adoring the way the lines in his age worn face were there from years of smiling, rather than frowning as so many others were, despite the careful severity that he practice for others.

 

“So,” he chirped, once his breathing had evened, laughter still warming his voice, “When is the wedding?”

 

She snorted, placing her head in her hands and shaking it, “It is nothing so serious, yet.”

 

“Very good,” he leaned back in his chair with his muffin, “When will I meet him?”

 

“I believe that you already have,” she said carefully, eyeing him warily, but a smile still curling her lips, “On multiple occasions, actually. In fact, I know so. He has been here in this very house and spoken to you about a number of important matters.”

 

This gave him pause, the muffin hanging from his mouth in an uncharacteristically slovenly manner. She could see the cogs turning as he tried to recall and giggled at the open puzzlement on his face.

 

“Not Artoirel,” he said firmly, eyeing her hard, almost certain, but . . .

 

“No, of course not,” she cried, almost disgusted, though he knew she loved him dearly and meant no offense, and a new shade of scarlet formed on her bronzed cheeks.

 

“Oh, thank goodness,” he placed a hand over his heart, giving her a wry smile of his own. She gave him no further hints, seeming to enjoy the game of making him guess. Mischievous as ever.

 

“One of the guards,” he ask, tilting his head and furrowing his brows in thought.

 

She shook her head and reached to brush a few crumbs from his shoulder, doting on him as she left him guessing.

 

He thanked her absentmindedly, then focused on the design of the wall paper. He seemed to think of something, turning a hopeful, startled grin to her.

 

She blinked and settled back into her chair, “Thought of someone?”

 

He set his muffin down and made to refill his cup, his face carefully neutral and casual as you please, “The Lord Commander came to me a few days ago asking after advice of a similar nature.” He turned a knowing eye to her, “He did not mention who, but the way he spoke of the woman was as though she were his oldest and dearest friend.”

 

She sat forward, surprised, “Ser Aymeric spoke to you about me?”

 

“So it is Ser Aymeric,” he grinned, turning back to her and smiling like an excited child and for a moment she could see the boy he once was beneath his wrinkled age worn countenance, saw where Haurchefant got his rugged good looks.

 

She giggled and nodded, “Yes, you've caught me out, cheeky!” The way she smiled was so heartwarming and tender and for a moment he was reminded of his late wife, when first they courted. Flushed with excitement and fondness and love and careless of who knew it. Oh how beautiful she was then. And how beautiful his precious daughter was now.

 

“Look at you,” he crooned, “Glowing. Ah, young love.” He sighed wistfully and took her hand. He kissed her knuckles and held it to his chest, patting it lovingly, “You will have to bring him for dinner. I would so love to tease him.”

 

“He is very easy to tease,” she admitted, looking a little guilty, but grinning toothily nonetheless. “When shall I invite him? We will have to plan, you know how bust he is.”

 

“Mmh, yes,” Edmont hummed, wracking his brain, “Perhaps I can invite him for a private meeting, something to do with the House of Lords. . .”

 

“I did not know you could be so sneaky,” she giggled, though she did not deny him the notion.

 

“It come with the territory of being a father,” he explained, “We must know everything and wait for the right moment to dispense our wisdom. And when to be manipulative for the benefit of our children.” He sighed and rested his hands over his heart, leaning back into his chair, “Pray, give me time to process and I will let you know what I have come up with.” He tilted his head to look at her, “I am so glad to see you happy, again, my dear.”

She stood and leaned over to kiss his forehead, “And I, you. Thank you for all that you have done for me. I do not deserve such a doting father. Shall I make you a proper breakfast, then?”

 

“Mmh, of course you do! And that would be lovely, my dear,” he kissed her cheek and shooed her away, “Go on now, I have preparations to make and a young man to put the fear of the Fury into.”

 

She snorted and left his side with only the smallest trace of hesitance. “Not too badly, now. I would like to keep him around,” she tossed over her shoulder, closing the door with a soft click behind her.

 

“No promises,” he called, chuckling to himself.

 

Lord Edmont de Fortemps was somewhat surprised to find his cheeks wet with tears, but was simply too over come with pride and happiness to care.

 

Too happy that, _at last_ , Haurchefant's dear lady was moving on.

 


End file.
